“Men’s waists are neither here nor there; A man scores always, everywhere. He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. ‘Move, you. There was a deep groan, and the sound of a fall within. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. In mid-bite, she heard a car door slam that was recognizable. The young man had knocked over the siphon. Lucy auditioned on a borrowed violin. It was not only Leonardo who had instilled in her this distrust of men. Monsieur Valade heaved a gusty sigh, and Gerald, with heavy diplomacy and a forced heartiness of manner, turned the subject. She had suddenly become as the jewels of the Madonna, as the idol's eye, infinitely beyond his reach, sacred.
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